Pieces and Pictures
by DCdreamer55
Summary: It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but Clint and Natasha's relationship is made up of many different pictures. A collection of fics featuring them and their love. "Don't leave me." she pleads in the dead of night, so dark all he can see are her bright eyes "I will never leave you." he promises her, "I love you." She smiles in the dark, "And I you"
1. Chapter 1 Falling Apart

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the crazy and wonerful ideas that sprout from my head**

**A/N: So, I have so many ideas for this pairing, and I can't keep them in my head. So this we be a series of one-shots featuring Clint adn Natasha, as well as some apperences from others. Not all necessarily connected to each other. I am taking promts, so just review or PM me and I will use some I like. They will all be 100-1000 words. Please review, I love to hear what you think.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Falling Apart

She had always wondered which person she would be in a situation like this, they one that holds it together, or the one that falls apart.

She always figured that maybe she would be the earlier one, she thinks of herself as strong. She hates to cry, she is good at controlling her emotions if needed. She is a master assassin. She could do it. She can do it.

A stray tear runs down her wet cheeks as she laughs bitterly.

Yeah, fat , chance.

Because, here she is at Clint's funeral, breaking. She is breaking. She is truly and utterly falling apart.

They ask her to right a eulogy, and of course she says yes, it's Clint, he would have spoken at her funeral, so she will speak at his.

The paper that holds her scripted goodbye to him is being crushed in her hands, tears staining the lines and causing ink to run. She grips it tightly to keep for shaking, and takes a deep uneven breath to calm herself. She is breaking.

She can't let then see her weak, she can't show them, she will tell them.

"Clint was wonderful." she continues without the paper, she has it memorized. "He is wonderful, and I say this in present tense because he will never be a was, he is an is, ad always will be, at least to me." she corrects herself.

"I loved, love, him," she admits, "and it is taking all my strength and most of my sanity to keep myself from jumping into that grave after him."

She sighs, "He would be laughing at me right now, probably is where ever he's at, 'The famous Black Widow, weak? Breaking down? Unacceptable, right, wipe those tears away, Nat, can't have anyone thinking you are weak, it'll all be okay'" she mocks him, not caring that she is making a fool of herself at the same time she is mocking the dead.

"Ours wasn't a beautiful love story, it was far from it, though it is truly heartbreakingly tragic. I wish he were here, I miss his smile, his laugh, him." she whispers, painfully exhaling. "Yes, he would have defiantly made fun of me now, and he would have paid for it."

"I-" she says, but her chuckle breaks off into a sob, "I can't." and she runs off the stage and out of the room. She runs and doesn't stop until her lungs are burning with the pray for oxygen.

He's dead, gosh she can't believe he is dead.

She always thought that when something like this were to happen, she would be able to hold it together.

But no, she is falling apart.


	2. Chapter 2 Dancing

**A/N: Hey :) So, here's the next chapter. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and favourites, it means so much to me. So thank you. Now, this is much happier than the lastr chapter, it isn't angsty. But it also isn't fluff, I don't really do hardcore fluff, but if you want me too, I can, just tell me in your review or drop me a prompt. I am still taking promts, I will be throughout this story. And please, REVIEW.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Dancing

It is an unusually quiet day in the Stark Tower when he first sees her dancing.

He is sitting on the couch in the main room of the floor the Avengers all share. Thor is back in Asgard, Steve is probably exploring around somewhere, and Tony is most likely in the lab with Banner doing something highly scientific that Clint has no hope of understanding. Natasha is off on her own, but even though he really wants to know where she is, he doesn't ever ask, because he knows that she will just role her eyes at him anyway.

It is quiet. Much too quiet.

It is then that he hears the music.

It is sweet and simple piano music, softly floating down the hall and to his ears. He only realizes that it is coming from her room when he stands and begins walking towards it. He wonders why she is playing piano music, and doesn't want to pry but is far too close and too curious to not snoop.

The door to her room is slightly ajar, open just wide enough so that he can discreetly peak his head through to look inside. With the music still softly playing, he is surprised at what he sees.

She is dancing.

It is a slow ballet. Soft and utterly graceful, something so pure and beautiful that he didn't think she was able to create now. After everything. But here she is, dancing.

Poised on her toes, she twirls gracefully around the room. Her movements are smooth and flow together perfectly, as if she is completely one with the music, letting it guide her. Her eyes are closed, as her lips slightly parted in a small but peaceful smile. She looks beautiful.

She opens her eyes just as her face is turned towards the doorway where he stands. Upon seeing him, she freezes, her mind already creating millions of ways to escape this situation, "Clint." she says, lowering herself down off the balls of her feet.

"Natasha." he breaths, "Since when can you dance?" he asks, chuckling.

"I don't dance." she quickly replies.

"I just saw you."

"No you didn't."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. I did, and it was beautiful."

She stops at that, and asks almost hopefully, "It was?"

He nods, coming into the room and closer to her. "Yes. It was."

"My mother was a ballerina." she admits quietly. "She was always dancing around the house, before. I always wanted to be like her."

He nods, knowing that her parents are a very delicate subject for her, he doesn't want to hurt her by saying something wrong, so he just let's her speak.

She takes a deep, almost shaky breath, her mind still turning from spinning around the room, se sits down on the edge of the bed, "I don't remember much about my parents, or my childhood." she tells him, though she is sure he already knows, "But one thing I do remember is my mother's dancing. She would always dance around the house, and when I was young, we would dance together." she smile at the memory, "I don't remember her face or a name, but I remember her dancing."

They melt into a slightly tense, though not uncomfortable silence, until he finally speaks up again,

"Will you dance with me Natasha?"

She stares questioningly at him, "What?"

"Will you dance with me?" he asks again, reaching out his hand upwards her.

"I.." She begins, planning to decline his offer but trails off.

"Come on, Tasha." He says, wiggling his fingers, hand still stretched out towards her.

She places her hand inside his and she smoothly pulls her up onto he feet and into her arms. He puts one hand on her hip and clasps one of her hands in the other. She rests her free hand on his shoulder, and they begin to sway around the room.

The music is still softly playing in the background, but both are so lost in the others' eyes that neither is listening anyway. She wraps her arm around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder, a sign to him that she trusts him completely. He places his head on hers, tucking her in beneath, the two half's of them almost creating one whole.

He wants to kiss, but for now, is just content with having her in his arms, swaying back and forth. Together, dancing.


	3. Chapter 3 Shaken

Shaken

**A/N: So , this is a one-shot that I wrote a bit ago and published seperattly. It doesn't really fit the whole 100-1000 words, but I really like this, I think it's one of the best things I've written, and I really wanted you to read it. I hope you don't mind.**

**A/N: Well, I just completly fell in love with the Avengers and Clintasha. so I couldn't help myself, this just came to me. I sould be studying for exams, but oh well. This is the longest one-shot I have evcer written, but there is posibbility of me continuing, it depends on the reaction I get to this, so tell me your thoughts. You should all be proud of me, this is almost 4500 words. Yeah, be proud.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sadly :(**

**Well, enjoy.**

* * *

It all begins with a knock on the door.

The Avengers, minus Hawkeye, who was sent on a solo mission by Fury a few weeks ago, and Thor, who is back in Asgrade, sit in the living room on the top floor of Stark Tower.

It has grown to be there home lately, in the past few months after Loki's demise. The rebuilding of many of the destroyed floors is almost finished, but they spend most of their time on the on floor especially for them, the 'Avengers', so it doesn't make much of a difference.

To Natasha, it all feels like home now, so it matters not.

They all sit together, laughing like they are family, with buckets of Chinese food is strew everywhere, and the T.V is on but not being watched. Natasha isn't laughing, but the smile on her worn out face is enough to show that she is happy. Last few weeks have been difficult for her, and everyone can tell, she is worried, and desperately misses Clint.

It all starts with a knock of the door, and Natasha's world is sent tumbling downwards.

It is one sharp rap on the frame of the door, nothing more, causes all of the warriors heads to turn, as well as Pepper's, and Natasha mumbles something like, "I got it." standing from her position on a large black love seat.

She wonders who it is, and secretly hopes it is her partner at the door, greeting her happily after 3 weeks, but she says nothing as she struts over to the hallway door that enters into their floor. She reaches out a hand to grab for the door knob, praying that it is Clint, but knowing that it isn't.

The moment she opens the door to see and unfamiliar man, obviously from S.H.I.E.L.D, she has a horribly wrong feeling form in the pit of her stomach. Something has happened.

"What happened to him?" she asks fiercely, and all of the noise behind her suddenly stops, everyone listening intently to her voice. She doesn't need to specify who him is either, they all know.

"Agent Romanoff." the man begins, and you can tell by the tremble in his voice that he is afraid of what might happen to him if he delivers this news, but he continues anyway, "I am here-"

But he is cut off by Natasha's growl, "What happened to him?" she repeats, even more forcefully, if that's possible, and everyone in the room is up on there feet, closing the distance between them in case anything happens. A low growl comes from Natasha's throat, and she turns to send her fellow heroes a look that is either, 'come any closer and I will kill you' or 'back off, I'm fine' but it is hard to tell.

Tony stands closest to her, only two big strides away, so he can act if needed. Pepper is just behind, looking nervous and attempting to disappear slightly behind her boss and boyfriend. Flanking her are Bruce and Steve, not too close to pose much of a threat, but still close enough.

Natasha assesses the situation and takes a deeps breath, "What happened?" she says again.

The agent at the door, finally getting the hint, cuts all the formal and goes straight to what they all want. "Something went wrong during Agent Barton's mission. He was hurt, and is currently in the S.H.I.E.L.D infirmary, in a coma. It is not known if he will wake up."

There is a loud pop as the door frame Natasha is clutching cracks beneath the force of her grip. Pepper jumps and immediately flees the room. The assassin is breathing heavily, head bowed, she hasn't responded to the man in the suit yet.

Tony murmurs a curt, "Thank you." and Natasha, almost too calmly, shuts the door. "Go." she whispers without looking up, and Steve and Bruce don't need to be told twice, quickly rushing from the room. Tony doesn't move and she doesn't make him because she figures that he won't anyway, so why bother.

Her body moves in deep, ragged breaths, almost shaky as she struggles to obtain the oxygen she so desperately needs. She steps softly away from the door, only to whirl around and send her fist in to the wall next to it with a powerful punch. But this is only to be expected. Tony still hasn't moved.

She walks, almost stumbles, into the centre of the open room, clenching her fists tighter with every passing second until the begin to vibrate. She tries breathing deeply, in and out, to calm herself, but find it only gives more opportunities for her body to be weak.

Thoughts and feelings and words fly around in her head. Clint. Coma. If he wakes up. If. She can't settle for an if, she must have a when. She needs to stay calm, she has to pull it together, but she seems to be shaking even more. Stay calm, you can do it. But she has never experienced this type of emotional pain before, and finds herself unprepared to fight the invisible foe.

She clenches her fists tighter, and falls to the ground.

* * *

Tony Stark has seen many things, but he must admit that seeing the Black Widow angrily punch a wall, with tears in her normally bright blue eyes, is a first. And he doesn't want there to be a second.

Tony thinks that she might be frozen in undeniable shock, petrified in horror, until he takes a closer look a realizes that she is shaking. He can see it now, but only if he squints, but it is there. A slight tremor that rocks the assassin's otherwise strong body.

He backs away, giving her space and himself some room to think. Clint is in a coma, and he might not wake up.

Her body begins to shake more violently, and he would go try to help her if he didn't think she would blow up if he got near, or break completely. She is vibrating. Her whole body a mess of trembling limbs.

He wonders what would be more frightening, seeing the Black Widow explode or break down.

Suddenly she collapses to the ground, legs giving way as she tumbles to the floor is a sobbing heap. He watches her carefully as she weeps tearlessly on the into her lap, body moving violently as if she is going to be sick.

She screams out in total emotional agony and Tony decides right then that seeing her break down is so much worse.

* * *

There is no doubt that Black Widow is one of the strongest women alive, and she knows that, but then why is she finding it so hard to force her legs to more her downstairs and into the car that will bring them to S.H.I.E.L.D.

They all go, and there is no argument what so ever when she climbs into the black van first. No one speaks, which is surprising, but she can feels their eyes on her back from the front seat, but makes no move to acknowledge them, or even frighten them into looking away. Right now, she doesn't care at all, she must get to her partner. She must get to Clint.

She practically sprints from the car when they pull up to the base, throwing open the door and rolling out of the still moving vehicle. She stands and dusts herself off, walking briskly into the front hallway and down by the elevators, the others trailing behind her.

The elevator ride up in long and awkward, the tapping of Natasha's foot the only sound present in the otherwise silent car. Nobody dares to make a move towards the very on edge assassin, afraid of what might happen if anyone should provoke her.

Natasha stares blankly ahead and tries to appear more together then she truly is. She is the first one out of the elevator when it stops, gracefully walking through the hallways.

She struts up to the nurses' desk at the front of the infirmary, and the nurse at the desk says, "Room 23." before any of the warriors can even open their mouths. And the assassin takes of down the hall, her breathing still ragged and uneven.

There are doctors in front of the door to his room, and she wordlessly pushes past them and enters the much too white room. She suppresses a shiver, she has always hated hospitals, too white and pristine and unwelcoming.

She must restrain herself from running to his bedside when she opens the door and sees him laying in the hospital bed. Looking far too weak and helpless for her liking.

She calmly, or as calmly as she possibly can be, walks over to his bed side, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed. Banner is talking to the doctors, and she tries very hard to listen to their conversation but finds herself unable to concentrate. She catches some words like, "bullet wound" "head injury" and "stable".

She let's out a long breath of air at the last one. Stable. He is stable, for now.

Without looking at anyone she quietly asks to be left alone with him, and there is still enough power in her voice to make them obey her request with no questions. They silently trickle out of the room and Natasha doesn't move until she hears the definite click of the door closing.

All at once her mask slips away and found behind it is a very broken woman. Her brows furrow in pain and frustration, her bottom lip jerking slightly as she fights the urge to cry. She can't cry, she mustn't.

She moves herself to sit in the uncomfortable plastic chair set up beside him, knowing that this is where she will stay until he awakes.

"Come back, Clint." she whispers forcefully, almost pleading, "Come back."

_Be okay_, she thinks, _come back, hold on._

She trusts that he is listening, she knows that he is fighting to return to her. She is sure he will make it. _Please, wake up._

Natasha reaches out to take his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together until the two half's almost form a whole. _I need you, wake up. _

She is one of the strongest woman alive, she should be able to stop her hands from trembling.

But they still shake.

* * *

Pepper Potts, out of all people, can understand what it is like to see the one you love nearer to death then anyone would prefer.

She, also being the only other woman, can most connect with what Natasha is going through. The difference, between all the times Tony has been hurt and with Clint now, is that Pepper has always been sure that Tony would come back to her, always had a bit of hope, but Natasha is growing more and more uncertain in every hour that passes.

The other woman can see how the light in her eyes, that sheer fiery determination, becomes dimmer and weaker each minute that her love fails to wake.

Yes, love, Pepper can tell that the Black Widow and Hawkeye have feelings for each other, she has known all along. She wonders what it is like, not knowing if he will wake up, not being able to tell him how she feels. Her heart aches for them. She is one of the only people that the Russian will speak to, even if it is only a few small words at a time.

"I wonder," Natasha says with a hoarse voice when Pepper brings her food after she has been in that overly white room for 16 hours, "if he knows."

Pepper figures that she isn't suppose to ask about what she means, but she dares to anyway, "Knows what?"

"Everything." Natasha replies, her usually strong tone wavering, you can even hear her shaking in the way she talks, "That he may be dying. If he knows how much I-we, we need him, how he needs to come back. If he knows how much I," but she breaks off then, stifling a sob.

"It will be okay." Pepper assures her, placing a comforting hand on the still shaking body of the Russian."Don't lose hope." she tells her, and desperately wishes that the shaking in her voice isn't as obvious as the shaking in Natasha's.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff is not someone easily frightened, but the thought of possibly losing her partner scares her to.

That's what she tells people, if they dare to ask, that she doesn't think she could ever find a better partner, that's why she is so afraid. Not because she still has a debt to pay him. Not because she wants to, needs to, pay him back. She is not so scared because she is afraid she will never be able to see his brilliant blue, almost grey, eyes again. Or because she wants so badly to here his voice once more.

And defiantly not because she is in love with him, and she is terrified that he will die and not know how she feels. That he will leave this world and not know how much she cares, and that she will not know if he cares too.

No, that's not it.

She hasn't left his unmoving side since they arrived almost 48 hours ago.

People try to get her to leave. To get some food or sleep or a shower, but she just sends them a cold glare that will immediately shut them up. She won't leave, she can't leave. She has to be here when he wakes up, there is other option. _Wake up._

She speaks to him, when no one is there to listen. She tells him how much she misses him, and how the others are worried. She tells him how much he needs to come back to her. And once, she even chokes out a desperate, "I love you." because that should be enough to get him back. And she has to get it out, just in case.

She sings him an old lullaby from her childhood. First fluidly in a language that he wouldn't understand, and then again in english.

_And the bird sings on  
__I will return by dawn_

_Don't forget me  
Don't be gone  
I will be here when you wake at dawn_

She never let's go of his hand. It is constantly in hers with a white-knuckled grip, fingers intertwined or hands folded together.

At night she climbs into the small bed and fits herself beside him, still trying to keep the nightmares away. When she cuddles next to him, she can almost pretend he is okay.

It is only then when she cries, on the second night, curved against him, she cries. She hasn't cried for years, and the wet, salty drops feel foreign on her cheeks. She shakes with silent sobs wrapped up next to him.

Their always intertwined hands vibrating with the rhythm of her weak, trembling body.

* * *

Bruce Banner, being a doctor, is very analytical and gifted at analyzing situations, and he knows that they are all in a very delicate one at the are all perched precariously on the edge, with her sanity and everyone's safety hanging in the balance.

They all poise themselves as if they are walking on glass, tiptoeing around the broken assassin. And even though he is exceptionally smart, and very much a thinker, he doesn't want to think about what could happen if the archer doesn't wake up. It is too scary a thought.

He looks at the Black Widow as a ticking time bomb, just perfectly set up to blow at any moment. Growing stronger with every passing minute that he doesn't wake. One false move from any of them, and she could blow. And even though they all think they might be in the clear now, no one has seen they entirety of what she is capable of. It frightens Banner, to think of what might happen when she explodes.

But he also sees her as something that not many people associate with her, a human being. A poor, heartbroken girl who is much worse off then she looks to be, and much younger and more venerable then she acts. He feels sorry for her.

And him, as (mostly) human too, can some what understand what she is going through. Now, people wouldn't think that someone like him, a doctor and monster all in one, would know a lot about love, but he can see it.

He sees the way Clint will glance at her, eyes full of longing. Or all of the small looks they often share, and the little jokes that only they get. He sees how Natasha's eyes follow him when he exits the room, or how she is always by his side during battle, and the way he panics if she is only slightly injured.

He can see it, even if he is the only one. He can tell that they are in love, and he can see how this is painfully eating her up inside. He had a chance at love too, long ago, but he lost her, and he doesn't want to see the same thing happen to his friend.

He can even see the way she tenses whenever the doctors open their mouths, the way she flinches whenever someone makes a comment or the hospital machines make a sound.

So when she quietly asks him, "Will he wake up?" in the middle of the second night, her voice so weak, Banner has nothing to say.

He even sees how her body is still, after three days, constantly trembling in her hospital seat at his bedside.

Steve Rogers had always prided himself on how he was so great at reading people, but when he looks at the lost remains of the fiery woman he use to know, he finds himself coming up with nothing.

He was always good at brightening up the mood when things were at there worst, but has no idea what to say when they stand together in the depressing hospital room, the only sounds their breathing and the constant and slightly reassuring beep of his heart monitor.

In the four days their fellow avenger has been comatose, Steve has tried many times to get Natasha out of the room and back into life, but with no avail.

He hates seeing one of his teammates in pain, much less two, and wants badly to help her but doesn't know how. She won't talk to any of them, except occasionally Bruce or Pepper, and Clint, but only when she thinks that they are all alone.

He watches he from outside the hospital room, her white knuckled hand still desperately holding on to Clint's. He wonders if she knows how much her hands are still shaking.

* * *

Nine days.

Clint Barton is in a coma for nine days, and in those nine days, Natasha Romanoff is more terrified then she has ever been in her whole life.

On the fifth day, Pepper comes in again, silently sitting down beside Natasha. Though no words are spoken, in means more then anything she could have ever said.

On the sixth day, she finally leaves the room. Just for fifteen minutes, to get a mug need shower an a bite to eat, but finds herself rushing back to him, worried something has happened. He stays the same, but she never leaves his side again.

He goes into cardiac arrest, on the seventh day. There is a loud beep from the monitor set up near them and she screams before she even knows what is happening. It takes them three tries to get his heart beating again, and she has to run and throw up in the garbage can when all is finished. Whether it's out of fear or relief, she is not sure.

It is on the eighth day that she begins praying. She has long since believed in God, and even if she does, she doesn't think he would ever help someone like her. She is simply not good enough. But Clint is, and Clint deserves to live much more then her. She spends the day cuddled next to him, whispering, "Please Lord, save him. Please Lord, save him." under her breath over and over again.

It is the ninth day, and his eyes have yet to open.

She sits by the edge of his bed, her head bowed and hands clasped together, his tucked in between, trying not to think of anything to painful. The doctors tell her that if he doesn't wake by the end of the eleventh day, they will have to call it. They say it isn't looking good. That it is her choice to make, leaving her alone with that notion, and she doesn't think she is at all strong enough to be trusted with the responsibility of that decision.

If it was truly up to her, she would keep him forever.

It frightens her beyond belief, to think that she might only have a few small days left with him, because it will never be enough time. He must come back, she has to keep him.

_Wake up._

He has to be okay, because if he isn't, she won't ever be either.

_Please, Clint. Wake up_.

She can't live without him. She won't live without him.

_Wake up._

He has to open his eyes. She must see them, once more at least, to last her through the years if he passes on. He can't leave. At least not yet.

_Open your eyes, Clint. Wake up._

She didn't even get to say goodbye.

_Clint. Wake up._

Her hands continue shaking. Come on, he can't go, don't go.

_Open your eyes._

He has to live. She loves him. That should be enough.

_Open. Your. Eyes._

She feels it before she sees anything else. The whole atmosphere of the room shifts, as if the tension is being lifted, and she feels a slight pressure between her hands. No, not pressure, a squeeze. Andagain.

He is squeezing her hand, he is holding her, he is alive.

She quickly bolts upright into a standing position, the chair skidding sets behind her and falling to the floor. She squeezes his hand, a fast little pulse, and he squeezes back. He is responding, he is waking up.

"Clint!" she whispers hopefully.

There is a loud beep from the heart monitor, and for a second her heart drops down into her stomach because she thinks something has just gone horribly wrong. But then he takes a sharp intake of breath and his stormy eyes snap open.

He is awake.

"Clint!" she shrieks loudly and everyone standing outside comes rushing in the room to see her joyfully wrap her arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. His arms are there too, snaking themselves around her waist and pulling her closer.

She pulls away, arms still around his neck, and looks into his eyes, "I thought I had lost you." she says, struggling to fight back more tears, "I was afraid."

He raises his eyebrows, "The Black Widow? Afraid?" he mocks and she not-so-lightly smacks him on the shoulder. "Don't worry." He says more seriously this time, "I will never leave you."

A genuine smile graces her features, and for once in her life she is truly happy. No one else says a word, they give them this moment. They deserve it.

And he leans forwards to lightly touch his lips to hers in the sweetest kiss she has ever experienced, much more meaningful then one fast and full of passion. He breath hitches and she feels weak at the knees, she doesn't even care that everyone is watching, for she fully kisses him back, savoring the feels of his lips brushing against hers. Even after nine days in the hospital, he still tastes like sour lemons and the dirt of battle. She loves it, it tastes like Clint.

He pulls her back into a deep hug, and whispers softly in her ear, "I love you Natasha."

She grins wider, nodding slightly, and breaths, "I love you too," so quiet that only he canhear.

She is still shaking, but this time it's from the happiness.

* * *

**Thank you For reading. REVIEW.**


	4. Chapter 4 I Love Yous

I Love Yous

"I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

"Love is for children." she says cooly, as strong as she can be with him looking her. She tried to avoid his beautiful grey eyes, but she is drawn to him.

He smirks at her, "So let's be children"

* * *

"I love you!" he suddenly yells out and she whips her head around to face him,

"What?" she asks, her eyes full of fear and surprise, and something else. Hope. Filled with fear and surprise and hope.

He swallows, "I love you, Tasha, I have for a long time, and I always will. Natasha Romanoff, I am in love with you."

* * *

She flings herself into his arms, tightly holding him close to her, with no intention of letting go anytime soon.

"I though you were dead." she whispers, shaking, and he realizes that she is crying into his shoulder.

"Shh, I'm here, I'm fine, it's okay." he tells her, pulling his fingers through the long hair that she has grown out in the past few months.

She pulls back to look him in the eyes, nodding, "I know." she says, and crashes her lips to his.

* * *

"Why did you let me live?" she asks softly as the look over the New York sky line from the roof of Stark Towers.

"I would have killed you." she admits when he doesn't answer, "I would have killed you without a second thought, I would have killed you, and not lose a wink of sleep over it."

He shrugs, "I don't know." he says, almost sadly, "But do you really need to ask me why I let the woman I lov live when I was suppose to kill her? Anyway, I'm glad I choose what I did."

Natasha clears her throat, which has suddenly gone very dry, "Woman you love?" she asks quietly.

He nods without looking at her, "Yes. The woman I love."

"I'm glad you let me live." she repeats, "Because then I got to know the man that I love."

* * *

He is in the hospital, in a coma that he might not wake up from, "I love you." she whispers, "I love you, Clint, please come back.

A stray tear falls from her eyes as she buries her face in his chest, "I love you." she whispers once more.

* * *

"I love you." he whispers to her in the dark one night.

She cuddles into him, "I know." is her answer, but he knows that that is her way of saying, "_I love you too."_

* * *

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

"Don't leave me." she pleads in the dead of night, dark enough that all Clint can see are her bright eyes, sparkling with tears that threaten to fall. He has never seen her this way before.

"I will never leave you." he promises her, "I love you."

She smiles in the dark, "And I you."

* * *

"Find me!" she screams to him, as they pull her away. She is flailing wildly, kicking and punching but they refuse to let her go.

"Find me!" she franticly yells again.

"I will!" he tells her, he won't stop until she is safe in his arms, "I will always find you!"

With one last longing look, and a shriek of despare, he disappears into the shadows.

He will find her, if it is that last thing he does. He will find her.

* * *

She never meant to fall in love with him, it just happened. She loved him, and she was sure he loved her as well, she was certain. Because the way he looked at her was very much like that way she would stare at him.

* * *

"He is the only person that loves me truly and unconventionally. And he is the only person that I truly and deeply love back."

"She is the only person I have left. I have never loved anyone the way I love her, and I never will again. I trust her with me life, my love, and she trusts me too."

* * *

"But I love him." she sobs, and that should be enough.

But it isn't, and it can't be. Because even though she loves him, and he loves her, not even true love can bring back the dead.

He wants to tell her that he loves her too, but he is already too far gone.

* * *

"Kiss me then." he demands.

She turns to him, "What?"

"Kiss me." he repeats, "Prove you don't love me back. Kiss me, and if you feel nothing, I won't bother you again."

"No." she flat out refuses.

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to kiss you just to prove a point." she says stubbornly.

"Kiss me."

"No."

"Kiss me!"

"No!"

"Why not?!" he asks her angrily.

"Becasue I can't!" she yells back.

"Why can't you?!"

"I can't kiss you because I do care for you! I can't kiss you because I will feel something, because I do love you! And I just can't! I can't love you, but I do!" she screams all in one breath, staring at him, her blue eyes widening in realization of what she just both freeze, her breathing heavily, eyes locked. Neither knows quite what to do, neither dares to move.

"Kiss me." he requests again, quietly this time, stepping closer to her.

"No." but it is less forceful, she is still breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down.

"Kiss me." he breaths, so close that their noses now touch, "Natasha." he breaths her name.

"Clint." her voice a whisper, "Clint, I-"

But his cuts her off effectively when his lips capture hers in a passionate kiss. Before she knows what she is doing, she is kissing him back. Deeply and desperately, she kisses him. She kisses him back.

She kisses him because she loves him, and he loves her.

* * *

"I do." Natasha speaks when it is her turn, a true smile playing at her lips, when he smiles back a full grin graces her already beautiful face. This is the happiest day of their lives.

Clint can't even wait for the minister to finish speaking, "I do." he says loudly, and people laugh, but he only has eyes for her.

She looks to him, the message sent in her look clear, _I love you_.

He beams back, _I love you too._

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, I'm sorry about the wait. My wifi has been in and out lately and I have been trying to get this up for about a week, but here it is. I am considering elaborating on some of these, so tell me which ones you want to see more of. I hope you enjoyed it, tell me what else you would like to see me write. REVIEW :)**


	5. Chapter 5 Tell Me About Daddy

**A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews, it means a lot. I have another one called 'Kisses' in the work, and it's more like 'I love Yous". This one is more angsty, but I really like it. I hope you enjoy it, and please review. Thank you all for reading.**

**Enjoy :)**

Tell Me About Daddy

Natasha cries. She cries and cries. Later, she will blame it on the hormones, if anyone will believe that, but truth is, her heart is breaking at the sight of her love's lifeless body.

Her hands rest over her slightly raised abdomen. Clint is dead, and their daughter will never have a father.

* * *

Natasha, despite being over tired, smiles at the newborn baby girl in her arms.

"And the father?" the nurse asks.

Natasha's smile slips away and the looks up to the nurse with hurt in her eyes, "Dead." she says in a cold voice, trying to keep it from breaking, "He's dead."

She turns her attention back to the baby girl as the nurse leaves, "But he was wonderful." she whispers as tears begin to fall down her cheeks, "He would have spoiled you. He loved me, more then anyone has ever loved a person, yet he loved you even more."

The Black Widow melts away, leaving a broken Natasha behind, "You have his eyes."

* * *

"Tell me about Daddy." the five year old girl requests innocently, too young to fully understand how much the question hurts her mother.

Natasha flinches slightly, the wound of his death still fresh after almost 6 years, "Your father was wonderful." she tells the girl, "He was kind and caring. He loved me more then anyone has ever loved a person, and then he loved you ever more then that."

The little girl is satisfied with that answer, and gives her mother a smile, a smile so like her father's that the mother must hold back tears.

* * *

The seven year old child wakes up screaming.

Natasha rushes to the room to comfort her daughter, to find her sitting up, tears in her eyes, "Tell me about daddy." she pleads in a whisper.

The elder red-head sits on the edge of the bed, "Your father was wonderful." she begins, "He was strong and always protected me. He loved me more then anyone has ever love a person, and then he loved you even more than that." she tells her.

The girl smiles, her breathing slowed but eyes still wide, "Why did her have to leave us?" she asks.

"He didn't want to leave us." the mother replies simply, "But it was his time to go."

The girl sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night.

* * *

"How did dad die?" the girl, now ten, asks one night curled up on her mothers bed.

"A car crash." Natasha lies quickly and convincingly, her voice quiet, "He died upon impact."

The girl nods, surprisingly strong, "What was he like?" she asks.

The former Black Widow smiles almost wistfully, "He was wonderful." she starts, as she always does, "He was determined and tough, with a soft heart. He loved me more then anyone has ever loved a person, and then he loves you even more."

* * *

"What was father like?" the thirteen year old questions.

"Your father was wonderful." Natasha states, "You are a lot like him, funny and friendly. He loved me more then anyone has ever loved a person, and then he loved you even more."

"And he left because he had to?"

"Yes." the mother nods sadly, "Because he had to."

* * *

A year later, the teenager screams, "Who was he?!"

"He was wonderful," the mother begins, but she is cut off.

"NO!" the girl snaps, tears in her eyes, "No." she says more calmly, "Who was he really?"

"Assassins." Natasha speaks coldly, "We were assassins. And heroes, we fought for good. Hawkeye. He was Hawkeye. And I was the Widow."

She looks up at her mother with his eyes, recognizing the names, "Avengers." she breaths, and Natasha can only nod, captivated by the too familiar look in her daughter's eyes. His daughter's eye.

"How did he die? Really die?" she demands.

"He took a bullet for me." she says, eyes full of pain, "I had told him about you only hours before, right before we went to a battle I insisted being a part of, despite my condition. He saved me, saved you too."

"Was it quick?" the girl asks solemnly, upon impact, as she was told years ago.

Natasha's voice breaks, "No."

"What was he like?" She smiles bitterly, "He truly was wonderful, the only person I ever truly loved, other than you." Natasha bites back tears, "He was strong and stubborn and sometimes a complete idiot." she let's out something between a laugh and a sob. "He loved me, and gosh I loved him."

"And he loved me?" the teen asks quietly, almost pleadingly.

"Yes. He loved you."

* * *

"What about father?" the sixteen year old asks.

"He was wonderful." she tells the girl as she has many times, "You have his smile. His eyes. The way he laughed, you sense of humor. All your father."

"And my, skills?" she asks.

"Me." the mother answers immediately, causing her daughter to laugh, "All me. Except archery, that's your dad."

The girl smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it came, "Did you get to say goodbye?"

"Yes." Natasha whispers painfully, "We got to say goodbye."

* * *

"Tell me about daddy." The girl, now adult asks her dying mother.

"He was wonderful." Natasha's weak voice is barely a whisper. "He was the sun, bright and shining, and I was the moon, reflecting his light." she continues, breathing short and ragged, "I love him. He loves me, more then anyone has ever loved a person, and even then he loves you more." she finishes, eyelids fluttering.

"I love you, mom. Tell dad I say hi."


	6. Chapter 6 Love Me

**A/N: SO, this is just a super short one, to tide you off, I'm working on some longer, better ones, so I should ahve another one out in about a week. I am also thinking of elaborating on this, so tell me what you think and if you like it. REVIEW.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

"Kiss me." she asks, so he does.

"Hold me." she requests, and he will.

"Stay with me." she demands, and he agrees.

"Save me." she screams, and there is no other option.

"Be mine." she orders him, and he already is.

"Protect me." she jokes, but he will, even though it's not needed.

"Come back to me." she cries, an he will try.

"Help me." she whispers, only if she helps him.

"Marry me." he asks this time, and she, with a smile, says yes.

"Find me." she tells him, he has, he always will.

"Fix me." she begs, but he doesn't know if he can.

"Keep me." she allows, and he intends to.

"Look at me." she breaths, and he never stops.

"Love me." she pleads, he always has.


	7. Chapter 7 Kisses

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, I love you all, I put in a part from the I Love Yous chapter cause it really fic. Reviews make me happy!**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Kisses

Natasha pulled away, gasping for air as her heart beat a mile a minute.

"Clint." she breathed.

"Natasha." he replied.

And they crashed their lips together again.

* * *

She leans down slowly, her pink lips touching his pale ones in a feather light kiss. She pulls away, and looking down at his weak form in the hospital bed, she almost hopes that the kiss will wake him up.

* * *

She expected him to kiss her, what she didn't expect was that she would kiss him back.

As their lips moved together in a silent song, apologizing for all the hurt, she felt as if her heart was going to explode.

She kissed him like the world was ending, and it might have been, but she didn't care, because she was in his arms.

* * *

He kisses her. Softly and slowly he kisses her. Full with so much emotion and pain, he kisses her

She kisses him. Hard and passionate, she kisses him. Full of regret and want, she kisses him.

* * *

"Kiss me then." he demands harshly.

She turns to him, "What?"

"Kiss me." he repeats, "Prove you don't love me back. Kiss me, and if you feel nothing, I won't bother you again."

"No." she flat out refuses.

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to kiss you just to prove a point." she says stubbornly.

"Kiss me."

"No."

"Kiss me!"

"No!"

"Why not?!" he asks her angrily.

"Becasue I can't!" she yells back.

"Why can't you?!"

"I can't kiss you because I do care for you! I can't kiss you because I will feel something, because I do love you! And I just can't! I can't love you, but I do!" she screams all in one breath, staring at him, her blue eyes widening in realization of what she just said.

They both freeze, her breathing heavily, eyes locked. Neither knows quite what to do, neither dares to move.

"Kiss me." he requests again, quietly this time, stepping closer to her.

"No." she is still breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down.

"Kiss me." he breaths, so close that their noses now touch, "Natasha." he breaths her name.

"Clint." her voice a whisper, "Clint, I-"

But his cuts her off effectively when his lips capture hers in a passionate kiss. Before she knows what she is doing, she is kissing him back. Deeply and desperately, she kisses him.

She kisses him back. She kisses him because she loves him, and he loves her.

* * *

"Please don't kiss me." she begs quietly, breath on his face and back pushed up against the wall.

He leans closer to her, so she backs up even more, trying to push into the wall as he leave hardly any space between them, "Why?" he asks softly.

"Please don't." she breaths again, eyes closed.

"I can't promise that." he tells her, fingers caressing her cheek, lips a breath widths away.

"I know." she whispers, arching up as he presses his lips to hers.

"He told me you would kill me." Natasha finally admits, voice cold.

Clint's brows furrow, "What?" he asks, shocked.

"He promised that you would kill me." she repeats, "Slowly, and intimately, and in ever way you know I fear." she says, opening up to him.

"I would never kill you." he promises, moving closer to her.

"I know." Natasha nods not looking Clint in the eye. "That's not even the worst part." she continues, "He said that he would wake you up, just as you made the final blow, so the first, ad last thing you would hear would be my scream. Then he would kill you."

Without thinking, Clint leans forwards to capture her lips in his

Her breath hitchs and she stiffens quickly before melting into the kiss. Her heart screams yes but her head shouts no, but in that moment, Natasha decides it's best to, for once, listen to her heart.

* * *

He kisses her hair, sweet and full of comfort.

She kisses his forhead, lightly as she prays for him to wake

He kisses her neck, full of raw passion.

She kisses his cheek, because it's easier that way.

He kisses her eyelids as she sleeps, touch light as a feather.

She kisses his ear, because she knows he loves it.

He kisses her lips, because he loves her, and she kisses him back, because she feels the same.


	8. Chapter 8 Lost

**A/N: Hello my lovelies, how are you all doing? Good? Good. Now, I just wanted to tell you that I plan on updating twice a month, if not more. **

**Also, I just wanted to thank you for all of the wonderful support. Speaking of that, not that I want to complain, but this story has 30 follows, and only 30 reviews, so please, PLEASE REVIEW. Please. I want to hear what you think, and when I don't get many reviews, I feel as if no one appreciates my hard work. Most of you I figure, are authors as well, so you know hoe it feels. I love you all, thank you for reading. **

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Lost

She sees him before he sees her.

Exiting the infirmary, he stretches his legs, so happy that he has finally been released.

It is a mess of red hair once he steps onto his floor of the tower and he is holding her once more, it makes him even happier that they are back.

She flings herself into his arms, tightly holding him close to her, with no intention of letting go anytime soon.

"I though you were dead." she whispers, and he realizes that she is crying into his shoulder.

It was a particularly horrible mission, they both know. With a dirty battlefield and a high body count. She saw him fall, she ran to him, she must have been knocked unconscious once they were in the plane, both of them, because he hadn't seen her again.

"Shh, I'm here, I'm fine, it's okay." he tells her, pulling his fingers through the long hair she has grown out in the past few months.

"Don't ever do that to me again." she mumbles into his shoulder, her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she wonders if he can hear it.

"I won't." he promises.

"They didn't let me see you, I'm sorry, I-" she desperately tries to explain why they haven't seen each other yet.

"I know." he cuts her off, "It's okay, I know."

"Gosh, I was so scared." she whispers, burying her face in his chest again.

He chuckles, "You? Scared? Pfft, never." he jokes.

She stares at him pointedly, pulling back to look him in the eye, "There aren't many things I'm afraid of," she says, "but losing you is defiantly one of them."

"You will never lose me," he tells her, still holding her tightly to his chest, "I promise."

She shakes her head, the evidence of her tears gone now, she speaks in her normal voice, but softer, vulnerable, "You can't promise me that."

"Yes I can." he insists, "I can't promise that I won't die, and you can't promise that to me either, but I can, and do promise, that you will never lose me."

She is glad they are alone, because with him, she doesn't have to be strong, she doesn't have to be an assassin, she can be Natasha. "I don't believe you." she mumbles, leaning into him again.

"Yes you do." he whispers.

She chuckles dryly, "Maybe a bit." she allows, looking up at him again, "But, only on one condition."

He nods eagerly, smirking at her, "Which is?"

"You're not allowed to ever leave me," she states, "as long as you never let me leave you."

Clint holds out his hand to her, "Deal."

Natasha takes it immediately, knowing the handshake means nothing to either of them, but the words spoken are completely true, she smiles, "Deal."


	9. Chapter 9 Watching

**A/N: Hey guys, so, heres the next chapter :D, I hope you enjoy, I'm sorry, its really angsty, I can't help myself, fluff just doesn't enjoy coming to me. I am open for prompts and suggestions, so lay them at me. And please, REVIEW!**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Watching

He watches her. From heaven, or hell, or beyond, or wherever he is now.

She's at his funeral. In the back, hiding in the trees, face blank and neutral. No one else sees her, but he is waching her, looking at her, wishing he could just be there. With her. Instead of this oblivion he is in at the moment. And for once in his life (in death now, he supposes, but whatever) he can't read her. He can't read her and it kills him. All he can do is watch.

So he watches.

* * *

The next day, early in the morning, she arrives quietly in the dawn light. Her expression shows nothing as she walks to his grave, but the lack of light in her usually bright emerald eyes gives her away to him.

She is sad. She is sad that he is dead, and that fact almost makes him happy. It is horrible that he is glad, relieved almost, that she mourns him? Is that so horrible?

He would mourn her, if their positions were switched, he would grieve, if he were the one alive. But then again, he cannot imagine a world with him in it and not her.

She is silent as she stops at the grave, gracefully moving to sit in front of his headstone, legs crossed, back straight, eyes blank and slightly glazed over. She looks like she's going to say something but doesn't speak.

He wishes she would talk to him. He wants so badly to hear her voice because he already misses her, and it is a horrible feeling, here alone, all alone in his personal oblivion.

"Natasha." he whispers hoarsely, and of course she doesn't reply, she can't hear him.

All she does is stare, blankly and it pains him to see her this way. She looks horrible, almost broken. Granted, it's very well hidden, invisible to everyone but him.

He takes a good look at her. Her eyes are bloodshot and lifeless. Her skin paler than normal, and there are deep purple bags under her eyes. She is thin, unnaturally thin, and tired looking. So tired and just done. Just done. And he's done too.

"You look like hell." he says simply, and it's true.

She doesn't move, it doesn't affect her. But she looks so sad and horrible. She looks sick, and she would slap him for saying so and quickly deny it, but she looks sick. Gosh, he's only been gone a week, and she looks horrible. And it scares him, he is scared for her.

"Tahsa." he whispers, and as if she senses the nickname, she tenses slightly for a second, readying -for what he doesn't know- before relaxing again.

She's given up. She's given up and that is unacceptable. She's given up and it's all his fault.

"Natasha please." he begs, "Look at yourself, you can't do this. Please." He wishes she can hear him, he wishes she would listen even if she could.

This isn't like her. She is strong, and beautiful, powerful and independent. And she didn't ever need him until he was gone. She's killing herself, he realizes, and she doesn't even notice she's doing so. Or maybe she does, but that is much too scary a thought, even more frightening than the thought that she might be dying and not even know.

"Natasha you can't." he tells her, "Tasha, please."

Suddenly, she stands, swiftly and with much more grace then anyone else who had been sitting for hours on end. Even in grief and pain and this horrible unhealthy state, she is still so very strong.

She turns and walks quickly out of the graveyard, pausing once when she is almost out of sight, looking back as if searching for him, expecting him to be there. And he is, she just can't see him.

With that, she turns and goes, and he watches her the whole way.

* * *

She comes back, the next day, and again she sits at the foot of his grave. And that's all she does. She sits. Blankly looking at the tombstone.

"Say something." he whispers after hours of her sitting there, "Natasha." he breaths, then louder, angry, "Say something."

She doesn't respond, of course, like everytime before, and she probably wouldn't even if she could hear him.

"Damn it, say something!" he yells, then broken, quiet, his voice only a breath, "Please."

He needs to know that she's okay. He needs to know that she'll be fine, or else he'll never rest. He needs her to know that he'll wait her, if she waits for him. He needs her to know that he loves her with everything he is and more. He wishes he wasn't dead. He wishes he wasn't dead so bad because he needs her, more then anything he needs her, and he isn't ready to go yet. There are so many things he needs to know, he needs her to know, that will never be told.

He screams at her again, and in that moment is stands, taking a last, almost longing look at the grave (she is staring right through him, he is there, even if she doesn't know, even if he can't tell her) before turning and leaving the cemetery.

She pauses and looks back again before disappearing, he doesn't stop watching.

* * *

She comes back the next day, and again just sits infront of him, as if she knows he's there, even though she doesn't. He is silent this time, and she still does not speak, so he spends the hours staring at her, memorizing her. He wonders if they will ever talk again, he wonders if they will ever get the chance.

She is back the next day, and the day after that, and then the next day after that, and for the rest of the week, and then the whole month, and still she keeps coming back. She still doesn't talk, he wishes she would listen.

And then one day, she doesn't come back. He waits for her, all day, but she never arrives. He waits the next day, and another. Then it's been a week and she's not back.

He wonders if she's given up on him. He wonders if she's just given up period.

He keeps watching.

* * *

It's a month before she is back again.

She saunters into the graveyard as if she never left, coming to comfortably sit infront of his headstone, as if it is where she has belonged all this time. And it is, really, there is no one else that can be there but her.

He has selfishly gotten used to her company. She should move on, forget him. She should learn to live, she should be happy, yet at the same time, he dreads the moment where she leaves him. And it is completely unfair, because in every way she knows (but not at all in the ways that count) he's left her.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, the first sigh of weakness he's seen from her, and stands up, and turns to leave, walking away from the grave.

"Natasha, wait." he calls quietly, but she keeps walking. He is suddenly shallowed by the dread that he may never see her again. That she will never hear the things he needs to tell her.

"Natasha!"

As if she can hear him, she pauses, halting to a stop with her back to him, and inhales deeply, before turning around quickly again, hair fanning out and shielding her face for a second.

When her scarlet hair falls limp again, and he sees her face, his heart contracts, and his breathing quickens. Can dead people sweat, can they cry? Maybe he'll find out, because the emotion is overwelming as he watches her.

She is crying, face twisted with grief. She is not shaking, or moving at all really. She is still, stiff and stock, a statue, but she is crying.

He wants her to yell at him. To be mad. To scream at him and tell him that he's an idiot like she has so many times before. But no, she is crying, and it kills him.

He begins to cry too, and he wants to speak to her and help her, but he can't find anything to say, and they both know that there is nothing he can do now. He silently begs that she will be all right, and if he believed in God he might take some comfort in it, but he isn't sure what he believes.

She opens her mouth as if to say something, but no words come out, and with that, she moves to leave again.

"Natasha!" he screams, begging her not to leave. She can't go, he needs her desperately. He needs her, and he hopes she feels that she needs him.

Again, she pauses. Turning around slowly, still crying, she gazes almost wistfully back at his grave.

"I miss you." she whispers, almost inaudibly, voice thick with the unfirmliar rasp of tears. It isn't nearly as much as he needs, or what he wants. It isn't an I love you, but it's enough for him, for now. It's enough

With that, she spins on her heel and struts, runs almost, out of the graveyard. He watches the way her hands shake, and even though he can't see her, he still feels her tears the whole way out.

* * *

She isn't back the next day.

Or the day after that, or they day after that. She isn't back for a week, this time with a single rose, which she gently places on his grave.

It is very sweet and soft, completely unlike of her, but he appreciates the sentiment all the same. It hurts him to know that the one person she needs the most at the moment is him, and how he knows there is no way he can help her. He can only watch.

So he watches. He watches as she kneels down slowly, reaching her hand out to softly run it over the rough edge of the tombstone, fingers grazing over his name.

And when, with more pain and emotion he has ever seen on her face, whispers, "Goodbye." in a low, thick voice, he understands.

And as she stands and leans forwards to place a soft kiss on the grave, (he feels the kiss, he swears he can feel her lips) he understands. And as he watches her leave, walking slowly, tears on her pale cheeks, but not looking back, he understands.

She doesn't come back again. He doesn't stop watching.


	10. Chapter 10 Kiss Me

**A/N: Hello darlings! Here's the next chapter, it's based off a section in my kiss me chapter as some of you requested, so here it is! Please read and review**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Kiss Me

"Love is for children." Natasha supplies easily, her default, her fail safe. She can't love him because she is incapable of love, because love is for children, and she hasn't been a child for a very long time.

Clint sends her a look, "We both know you don't believe that."

She spares a quick glance at him, before turning her eyes back to the dark New York sky line. The wind on top of the roof is cool, but she doesn't not shiver, keeping her expression blank. "Yes I do." she states simply, "I always have."

"That's a lie." he says, not harsh or accusing, but as a fact, "You just don't think I can truly care for you. You don't think I can love y-"

The assassin cuts him off quickly, "Stop." she growls, "Stop."

"Why?" he questions incredulously, "Because feelings are dangerous? Too painful? Because love is for children?" he asks, "You and I both know that you don't really believe that. Just accept it. I love you N-" but she cuts him off again.

"Stop." she demands through her teeth, standing aprubtly, "Stop, just, don't."

"Nat, I-"

"How did we even get on this topic? This is stupid." she mumbles, moving to go.

He stands quickly, scrambling after her, "Wait. Please, don't go, I'm sorry."

She whirls around, hair faning out around her in bright red flames as she turns, "I don't love you." she growls, and even in the dark of the night he catches the emotion swimming in her eyes, giving her away, before she pivots back towards the stairs.

He knows her, and he knows she loves him. She knows it too, but won't admit it. He just wants them to be happy, but she is too stubborn, and it makes him angry.

"Kiss me then." he demands harshly.

She turns to him, "What?"

"Kiss me." he repeats, "Prove you don't love me back. Kiss me, and if you feel nothing, I won't bother you again."

"No." she flat out refuses.

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to kiss you just to prove a point." she says stubbornly, brow raised challengingly, arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Kiss me."

"No."

"Kiss me!"

"No!" she exclaims, throwing her hands into the air.

"Why not?!" he asks her angrily.

"Becasue I can't!" she yells back.

"Why can't you?!"

"I can't kiss you because I do care for you! I can't kiss you because I will feel something, because I do love you! And I just can't! I can't love you, but I do!" she screams all in one breath, staring at him, her eyes widening in realization of what she just said.

They both freeze, her breathing heavy, and their eyes locked. Neither knows quite what to do, neither dares to move.

"Kiss me." he requests again, quietly this time, stepping closer to her.

"No." she is still breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down.

"Kiss me." he breaths, so close that their noses now touch, "Natasha." he breaths her name.

"Clint." her voice a whisper, "Clint, I-"

But his cuts her off effectively when his lips capture hers in a passionate kiss. Before she knows what she is doing, she is kissing him back. Deeply and desperately, she kisses him.

She kisses him back. She kisses him because she loves him, and he loves her.

Melting into the kiss, she wraps her arms around his neck, and he moves to pull her closer. They continue to kiss passionately, pouring years of emotions into the embrace. Eventually, she pulls back for air but doesn't step out of her archer's embrace, instead resting her forehead on his.

"I love you." he whispers, "And you love me."

She grins, and it's so uncharacteristic of her, so pure and true, he has to grin widely back, and they both begin to chuckle almost giddily. She is smiling at him, geuninly and truley smiling, and in the moment they can both forget their past pain and suffering, and focus on the now.

"You love me." he repeats.

She lets out a small laugh, and supplies, "Maybe a little."

He kisses her again.


	11. Chapter 11 Christmases

**A/N: So here's a special holiday for you :) This is a Christmas one, so if you don't celebrate Christmas, I'm sorry and I don't mean to offend anyone. I hope you enjoy, and I want to wish you all a very happy holiday. Remeber that I am still taking prompts, so feel free to tell me what you want to see. Please read and review.**

**I would like to dedicate this to the people affected by the school shooting in New Town, my heart goes out to all of you during this holiday season. Even though it is so far away, we are still one world and I feel for you, I hope something can be done about this to prevent this from happening in the future.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

They spend their first Christmas together on a mission.

It is dark, and cold, and they sit huddled together in a small cabin, waiting for their target to make a move.

He silently hands her a small cup of hot chocolate, which she gratefully accepts without a word, taking the mug from his calloused hands and curling herself around it, trying to absorb some of the warmth.

He wonders what she is thinking about, because she stares at the snow falling outside the window with glassy eyes and a puzzled look on her face. He wonders if she's thinking about her family, or her painful past. He wonders if she even acknowledges that it's Christmas.

They aren't suppose to talk, but he looks at her and whispers a soft, "Merry Christmas." because it's the right thing to do.

She turns to him, head tilted to the side as her look becomes even more puzzled, and she raises her eyebrows questioningly.

"You don't know what Christmas is?" he asks, taken aback, but her head shake and silently scoff tells him that she does, "You don't celebrate it?" he tries again, which at this she looks away, and he doesn't know how to take that.

She offers to take the first watch, and he leans back in the small cubbyhole that they are crowed in together. It grows comfortably quiet, with the wind outside the only sound, and he begins to fall asleep.

"Clint." she whispers suddenly, to which his eyes snap open.

"Clint." she says softly again, and it's not Barton, not Hawkeye as usual, but Clint. He hears her sigh, and feels rather than sees her shift her position to look at him and say, "Merry Christmas."

He falls asleep smiling.

* * *

He makes sure to book off their second Christmas.

But they end up on a mission anyway, and by Christmas eve they are no where near finished, and he is pissed and much too cold but she just sends him a small smile and tells him that it's all okay.

This time, when he wishes her a Merry Chirstmas, she immediately says it back.

* * *

She spends the third Christmas in a coma.

Every minute she spends in the hospital he is there with her, watching her, helping her, caring for her. He misses her, and he desperately wants her to wake up.

The doctors say she'll wake up in a weeks time, but he knows her, and he loves her, and he knows that she'll come back to him soon. They always spend Christmas together.

And when the clock strikes midnight, signaling that it is now Christmas day, he leans forwards and gives her a light kiss. A sweet, unknown present from him to her. She wakes up a few hours later, and it's the best present he could ever get.

* * *

For the forth Chirstmas, they go out to a bar, for lack of a better thing to do.

As they stumble back into her room at SHIELD, she grows unnaturally quiet, moving to sit on the edge of her small bed. He turns to look at her questioningly, and she glances at the clock and sighs. It's only a few minutes until Christmas.

"I must have been three." she starts softly, "It's the only Chirstmas I remember. It was snowing, but it often was, and cold. Papa had built a fire that warmed up the room, and mother made hot chocolate." she tells him almost wistfully, "I opened a present, and it was...it was a pair of ballet shoes, my mom was a ballerina." she whispers, "My sister and I we got, we got matching tutus," her words being to slur and her hands are shaking, the clock strikes midnight but she doesn't seem to notice, "And we spent the w-whole night dancing around the house."

Suddenly she breaks down into sobs. Harsh, painful sobs full of raw emotion that is usually unknown to both of them. Without thinking, Clint goes to her, sitting down beside her and wrapping his arms protectively around her shaking form. She doesn't push him away as he had expected she would, but instead pulls him closer and buries her face in his shoulder.

She cries well into the night, not stopping until he lifts her softly to the centre of the bed and she sobs herself to sleep, with his arms still around her. He watches her sleep for a while, noticing how it releases her, and even with the tear tracks she looks much more peaceful. And beautiful, but she would kill him if he said that to her. He always thinks she looks beautiful.

He eventually falls asleep beside her, and is pleased to find her still there in the morning when he wakes up.

* * *

They finally get a tree on the fifth Christmas.

She is like a kid in a candy story, as they walk down a row of tall evergreens, gazing back and forth at different trees, the stars twinkling above them. The night is cold, and they can see their breath in the air, but he doesn't mind, because he loves the way her fiery red hair looks underneath the black winter cap she is wearing.

It smells overwhelmingly of pine, which makes sense, yet the scent is somewhat comforting to her, and she finds it firmiliar. Like a home she used to have, and she isn't sure if that fact makes her happy or sad.

She stops suddenly infront of a tall, deep green Douglas Fir and, hands on her hips announces, "This one."

He nods, and buys the tree without a comment or complaint, smiling giddily at the way she watches the fluffy snowflakes fall as they make their purchase. He finds himself falling in love with her all over again. Falling in love with this her. This innocent simple version of her, with jeans and knit caps and smiles. He finds that he loves this her, and she finds that this her and letting it fall in love with him. Unlike the real her, with blood and guns and smirks, who denies and pushes away her emotions. Who is afraid that if she let's one part of her love him, the rest will too.

After Clint and the employee helping him finish strapping the tree to the top of there car, Natasha turns back to then, waiting to go. Even under her black hat, the snowflakes have mingled with her firey hair.

The employee grins at them then and says, "You two make a great couple."

Clint opens his mouth to correct him, but no words come out and he finds himself blushing when Natasha jumps in and says a sincere, "Thank you." with a smile on her face.

When the get into the car and are wished a Merry Christmas, both of them say it back, and both begin to wonder what it would be like if the people back there were the people in the car right now, and what it would be like if what the employee had said was true.

* * *

He finally gets her a real present on the sixth Christmas.

They were never really gift givers, preferring gentle caresses and soft looks to bows and gift bags. She never really needed anything, and she often told him that, so they were never really gift people, even though they both do (somewhat secretly on her part) love Christmas.

But he's finally gotten her a gift this year. A real honest gift, and he hopes she likes it, because the small box in his pocket feels as if it weighs a thousand pounds.

It's Christmas eve, and they just got back from a mission mere hours ago. They've already gone to SHIELD, and now Clint sits in the living room of their rarely used apartment, waiting for her to come out of the shower.

He hears the water turn off and his palms start to sweat with nerves. Fighting is easy, now love, that's hard.

Minutes later, she saunters into the living room, and opens her mouth to say something but the words die on her lips as she sees him kneeling before her. "Clint." she whispers, hand on her heart, mouth open.

But she can't say anything else, because he presents her the ring, and in the back on his mind he wonders if she can hear how fast and loud his heart is beating. Because it hammers against his rib cage almost the the point of pain.

"Natasha." he says softly, and that is all he gets out because he sees her shaking. One hand over her heart, the other at her mouth, she shakes.

He has this whole romantic speak planned out, but he looks at her and knows that she understands, and the words tumble out, "Will you marry me?"

She's in his arms almost before the question is finished and he holds her tight to him. She doesn't even have to say anything, because when she offers him her hand for the ring, he knows her answer.

She hugs him again, arms wound tightly around his neck and he hugs her back with the same amount of force. "Merry Christmas, Natasha." he whispers softly in her ear.

She lets out a joyful laugh, so unlike her but perfect-sounding on her lips, "Merry Christmas."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Happy Holidays everyone, stay safe :D**


	12. Chapter 12 Knowing

**A/N: Okay, I know you all hate me. I didn't mean to take a random month long break, so sorry, and if it happens again I will hopefull be able to tell you. I was super busy and had a lot to do, so sorry. Well, now that that is over with, I should be back to updating around twice a month. I am working on the chapter which focuses on the "Find me" thing from a few chapters ago, so I'm excited for that and am sure you will like it! Anyone, thank you to all of my wonderful readers and reviews.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Knowing

Pepper Potts, despite appearances, was good friends with Natasha Romanoff.

She had been friends with Natalie Rushmen, back when Natasha had been Natalie Rushmen. They had been close. Pepper and Natalie meshed well, they had many things in common and in the situations handed to them, they grew together.

But Natasha wasn't Natalie. Natasha's parents didn't live in Florida, and she didn't have a younger sister whom she loved more then anything. She didn't go to Harvard or have a cat named Chloe. Natasha didn't hate bananas or love ice skating. Because Natasha wasn't Natalie, and Natalie wasn't at all Natasha.

But Natasha did love white wine and nighttime. She enjoyed blueberry muffins and she did speak Latin. But ever with all of these differences and similarities, Natasha still wasn't Natalie.

Pepper had become friends with Natalie easily and simply, almost overnight and without really trying. She supposed that Natasha as Natalie was trying to do that, being nice and making their friendship seem effortless. Right. But it wasn't like that with Natasha.

With Natasha it had been different. Natasha was secretive, and guarded, and as Pepper's boss and boyfriend has once stated, she was a mystery. But Pepper wanted to be friends with Natasha, and Pepper made sure it happened. She didn't know why she felt so drawn to the redhead, but she wanted to be friends with Natasha like she had been friends with Natalie. Maybe it was because she was one of the only other females, and Pepper despratly needed a break from all of the testosterone. Maybe it was because she still saw Natalie deep inside and she missed Natalie. Or it could be because like herself, Natasha had almost lost the man she loved many times. Or, that was just what Pepper assumed.

Or maybe Pepper wanted to help Natasha. Because, despite what was seen on the outside, Pepper could tell that Natasha was broken, and they were fairly alike. Natasha needed fixing, and as much as she was sure that Clint was working on that, he could always use some help. Natasha was also lost. Pepper could see how her and the archer looked at each other, and maybe Natasha didn't even realize it but Pepper could help. Maybe, in a tower full of superheroes, Pepper wanted the chance to help someone too.

So one day, Pepper marched through the tower and appeared at the door of Natasha's room, smiling as the other women opened the door. She had a bottle of white wine and a couple of glasses, held up the alcohol and smiled again, "Care for a drink?"

Natasha, looking utterly normal in her black yoga pants and tank, stepped aside after raising a brow and let Pepper in without a word. Her room was very neat -Pepper liked neat- as she had expected, but it was also empty and bare, without anything that would indicate it as Natasha's, apart from the gun on her bedside table. It was a room, but no where near a home.

Pepper poured two full glasses and sat beside Natasha, who took her drink without a word, on the edge of her bed. They drank and made small talk, though it was fairly meaningless and without thought. The two began to run out of things to chat about after about half the bottle and fell into a state of strange quiet. They sat there in a slighty awkward silence for a few long minutes before Natasha, after taking a sip of her wine, looked up to meet Pepper's eyes.

"I suppose I owe you an apology then." She said.

Pepper's brows furrowed, "What?"

"An apology." Natasha repeated, and she looked utterly lost, probably not a custom to apologies, "About the Natalie thing." she elaborated.

"Oh." Pepper said, eyes wide with surprise, "Thank you."

Natasha nodded, "I suppose I'm not used to making friends on the job, or seeing them after." she explained, and Pepper was beginning to wonder how much alcohol they had really had, because she assumed the Russian held her drinks well be was being unnaturally open, not that she minded.

"I get it." the other women assured.

"Not many people do."

"But Clint does?" Pepper said without really thinking, and though it was posed as a question, she was almost certain she already knew the answer.

Natasha tucked her head down, scarlet hair cascading in a fan infront of her face. She stayed there for a long beat, and for a second Pepper feared that she had ruined their friendship before it had even truly started. But then the Russian looked up again, "Yes." she said, so seemingly simple yet undoubtedly extremely complicated.

Pepper, glad that the other women had allowed herself to open up for her, decided to push her luck, "You two are very close, right?" she asked.

She could see Natasha hesitating as she nodded, "Yes."

"He knows, doesn't he?"

Natasha's brows knit together in a slightly confused expression, "Knows what?" she wondered.

At this Pepper uncharacteristically shurgged, "Everything."

Something close to a smile appeared on Natasha's lips, gracing her features. She looked at Pepper but didn't say anything, not that there were any words needed. And Pepper hopes that someday, she can know too.


	13. Chapter 13 Taken (Find Me)

**Disclaimer: Yeah, nope. Working on it though :P**

**A/N: Okay, next chapter here we go! This would've been out sooner, but my wifi was down, but better late than never I suppose! This chapter is that one which is the extention of that "Find me" chapter awhile ago and I know you've been wanting to read this so here we are. Kiss to all. Read and review! **

**Enjoy :) **

* * *

Taken

It's dark. And she's cold, and alone, and though she'll never admit it, she's scared.

She can hear the ever present drip of water falling down from the damp ceiling of her stone cell. She doesn't know how long she has been here, or if she'll ever be able to see the light of day again. Her eyes have long adjusted to the pitch black of her cage, but she wishes to see day and not the wet stones and pieces of hay that are around her.

_"Find me."_

He promised. He had promised that he would find her, and she's beginning to think he might break that promise.

Please don't break that promise.

Of all the times she has been captured, this time is by far the worst. Not because of the dampness, or her hunger, or the absence of light, but the fact that he isn't there with her.

If only she had gotten the chance to kiss him. Really, truly kiss him. Then maybe, just maybe, it would be okay for her to die. As long as he knows, because she's never gotten a chance to tell him.

But maybe he already knows. Maybe he already knows how much she loves him, he'd always known her better then she knew herself, anyway.

_"Find me! Find me!"_

_"I will find you! I will always find you!"_

Oh, please find me, she thinks, begs, because dispite everything she has ever told herself, she needs him. She despratly needs him, and hopefully, he needs her too. And hopefully, he's out there, looking for her right now.

As if on cue, there is the sound of footsteps coming down the concrete corridor and towards her cell.

She can tell, just by the few, solitary footsteps, that the person they belong to is a man, about 200 pounds and tall. She can also tell, just by the footsteps, that this is not the man she hopes is looking for her.

"What do you want?" she croaks, her voice still surprisingly strong, she is still so full of fight. With a scowl of determination she cranes her neck in her sitting position to look at the outline of the man.

The dark figure reaches forwards without a word and takes a hold of her by the back of her torn uniform, dragging her upwards and out of the cell.

She doesn't move, allowing the gaurd to struggle with pulling her along rather then her struggling herself. She is suddenly blinded by the white, artificial lights that aluminate the corridor next to the one her cell resides in. She squeezes her eyes tight before quickly opening them again.

With one last ditch effort, she summons all of her strength, which is limited after months in the captivity, and breaks free of the man's grip, kicking him hard as he gives a feeble attempt to recapture her. She spins and runs, to where she is not sure but she runs, runs through the hallways, past guards and enemy agents dressed in black. Delivering blows and dodging attacks from ever direction, she keeps running. There is the telltale click of a weapon from somewhere behind her, amongst the sea of people reaching for her, and she ignores it, continuing to run as if her life depends on it, and considering the fact that he hasn't come for her yet, it might.

She regrets her decsision the moment the dart imbeds itself in the supple skin of her pale, exposed neck, causing her to immediately drop to the ground, the minimal strength she had draing from her. She hits the concrete floor hard, having enough sense to be able to place herself just so that her body absorbs most of the blow, causing the least possible damage to her.

They laugh at her, she can hear it. Cold and cruel and unforgiving, they laugh at her. And despite it all, she smirks, knowing and triumphant. They haven't beat Natasha Romanoff yet, they will never beat her. He is coming for her, he will find her.

He will always find her.

* * *

She wakes again in the cell.

There is no way the tell how much time has passed, but the constant drip of water and the pain in her abdomen reminds her that she is alive, and is still trapped.

She shakes out her dirty mat of hair, still a bright red after all the time, and longer. It falls down past her shoulders in messy curls, and she makes no effort to tame it. She shifts, moving her hands, which are cuffed in front of her, to her rats nest of and to pull a single Bobby pin from beneath the mat of scarlett. Then, maneuvering carefully, yet easily and swiftly, she quickly picks the lock, releasing her hands as she does everytime she is recaptured.

Sighing, she shakes out her wrists and leans back against the cold stone wall, contemplating her next move. There isn't much she can do, really, except wait. Wait for the enemies to want something from her again, and then come and get her. Wait for resuce to come, wait to be saved. Wait for him.

She is out of options, because she has tried everything. Her life is not in her hands any more, she does not hold to power, which she hates. She is an assassin, trained to be able to know and control herself, as well as others and various weapons, she being out of control is completely foriegn to her, and she hates it. Her life is in the hands of her captors, of her possible saviours, but not in hers. Her life is in his hands, the only person she complete trusts, the only person whom she would give her life for. She trusts him with her life, which he now holds, but now she is beinginning to believe that even he, like everybody else, will let her down.

She falls into a restless sleep that night, only to be woken up again by her own terrified screaming before dawn has even broke.

* * *

As she spends more time in her cell, Natasha begins to realize how much she does love him.

She never noticed it before now, before she was so close to death and so far from him. It's the little things that surprise her. Like how she loves his crooked smile and the way his stormy eyes twinkle as he laughs. How he teases her and never misses a shot. She realizes now that they were probably always in love with each other, she just hasn't known, and she wonders how long he has.

He promised that he would find her, and she tries to believe that with all of her broken heart.

She tries so hard to believe it with all she has left and when he finally comes to her after so many days she thinks it's a dream. Or she thinks that she has finally died, perished in that dark cell and this is what heaven looks like, but then remembers that there is no way she would every get to heaven and wakes up. His footsteps are rushed and she must have been there long to recognize all that is him, because he has to shake her and beg her to remember for a good while before she finally believes that it's real.

She's crying as he lifts her ever so gently and carries her into the helicopter and brings her home. She doesn't remember home anymore, has never really had one since she was a young girl but it has slays been with him and now he is here. He is here and she is safe and she knows that she loves it. She attempts to tell him so, managing to mumble it out and doesn't realize that he heard until he quiets tells her the same thing back.

He found her, he finally found her. She is sad and broken but he found her, and now he will fix her. He promises, and he always keeps his promises.

_Find me._


	14. Chapter 14 Hallie

**A/N: Hello my darlings! Here's the next chapter, it would've been out early but I've been exhaused all week sp I wasn't up to editting and submitting and yeah and yeah, but here it is now. This one is kinda long, I got a bit carried away, oops. It is based off of my OC Hallie, the daughter of our favourite two Avengers, as suggested by my dear friend Lady. If you have any questions about her, feel free to ask! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, please tell me what you think!**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Hallie Barton, at fifteen, finds that she is a lot like her parents, and she isn't sure whether she likes that or not.

Hallie knows about her parents. She knows that they had been assassins and heroes. She knows that they are broken and covered in red, because behind her messy red hair and witty comments, Hallie is very smart. She watches and observes and remembers, and being that she is often around her parents, she watches them the most.

She's very much like her parents, and she doesn't mind it most of the time. There are many things about being the daughter of two Avengers that Hallie likes. Like living in the tower and having good friends like the smart and sassy Alexandria Stark, or the kind Lana Rogers. Such as her natural martial arts abilities, or the how she knows many nerve strikes and locks. Or how she is very strong, fast and can hit almost any target if she has a bow in hand. Or her high tolerance of pain, her bright blue eyes and the way she never cries. Hallie likes that, and she likes who she is.

But there are many things she doesn't like too. Like the way she can't go out and live a normal life without being bombarded by paparazzi or her parents' enemies. Or the way she is much too guarded and knowledgable for a girl her age. How she has to always be strong, but still sometimes wakes up screaming.

Sometimes Hallie wishes she had never been born -she knows she was a mistake, after all, her parents aren't the type of people to have children, and she doesn't have any siblings. But sometimes, she wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Hallie Barton had always loved to dance.

Nobody knew about her love for dance, except her mother, who after catching her in the act, gave Hallie a pair of worn ballet slippers that once belonged to her grandmother. When home alone, Hallie would spin around the house, poised on her toes. Her warriors body, like her mother's, and quick reflexes were perfect for dancing. With a sharp throwing knife in her pocket, a gun on the table beside her, her combat skills and black tank top, Hallie wasn't the most conventional ballarina. But, she was sure that in another life, she had been a dancer, not she would ever tell anyone that.

One time, when Hallie was little, she had confided her dream to be a dancer in her mother one night. The older women had only smiled -a smile which Hallie would latter note as bitter and knowing- and tucked her daughter into bed, telling her about her grandmother who had danced once. When Hallie asked why didn't know her grandmother, Natasha only smiled that bitter smile and said goodnight, shutting off the light as she left.

Hallie dreamt only of dancing that night, and the worn ballet slippers were at the foot of her bed when she woke.

* * *

Hallie shot her first gun at the age of six.

Not really the normal thing for a kindergardener to do, but a regular occurrence in her family. She shot her first gun at six, sneaking into the room where her parents were train with great skill -something else she had gotten from them, Hallie was very good at sneaking- and taken the gun from the cart. She aimed quickly at the target and fired, and she was pretty good, for a child, or for anyone really.

It was three years later, at nine, that she had shot her first arrow.

It wasn't sneaky this time though. She was in the training room with her father, working on her combat skills when she just paused and asked. She often watched him with his bow, and was very curious about it for a long while. She thought it looked so cool ad elegant, shouting the arrows, and Hallie had never felt cool or elegant, -except maybe when she danced- and she wanted to. Because her was so skilled and beautiful and her father so smooth and fast. She wanted to be like them, she often did, but she sometimes was revolted by the fact that she was. Granted, her father didn't think she'd be good, but Hallie was a watcher, and she put her watching to use, so she easily picked up the bow and smoothly shot. It hit the bullseye, even she was a bit surprised.

But Hallie was a Barton, and that's what Bartons did. They shot and killed, and one day she would be someone who would shoot and kill. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

* * *

Hallie was kidnapped when she was ten.

She was taken away in the night, kicking and screaming, bagged and tied and stolen away.

She was saved eventually, after long days in captivity. They took her for ransom, as a bargaining chip against her parents and that was the first time that the young girl truly understood what her parents did. They thought she might know secretes of SHIELD as well, which she didn't, -who tells a ten year old an important seceretly anyways- but even then they still hurt her. Hurt her and left scars on many places other than her pale skin.

They thought she was important, but they were wrong. There was nothing special about Hallie Barton, not yet anyways, or nothing that she really saw. Hallie had always wanted to be special. And so the nightmares began again.

* * *

Hallie could count the people she truly loved on one hand.

Her parents, of course. Because they were her parents and no matter what she would always love them. She could never imagine a world where she didn't. Her mother, strong and cool but loving. Wise and clever, so much like Hallie herself. Her father, kind and protective, yet still so very strong in a way she would always admire. Witty and knowing, just like his daughter.

Alex Stark, her best and only friend. They were the same age, and Hallie had always gotten along well with the brunette mini-genius. They had a silent understanding and a simply way of interacting that was peacefully perfect, and seemed to be the only constant thing in her life. It was nice to have a friend.

She loved her 'uncles' too of course, and the rest of the kids in the tower, but not in that way. Not in they way they loved her, if they did at all. Not like that, hardly ever like that.

Hallie wished that she was able to love more, but sometimes she though it might be easier if she didn't even love at all.

* * *

Hallie was eight when her and Alex stowed away on one of their parents' missions.

They planned to sneak away and hide on the her while their parents were being debriefed, and easily did so, hiding in one of the small compartments that held parachutes and weapons. Luckily they were still both small enough to squeeze inside the hole together, giggling proudly at the fact that it had been so simple to get past the guards and on the plane. They were the daughters of Avengers, after all.

Hallie had always wanted to be like her parents.

Everything was fine until there was the sound of a loud explosion from outside, and it took a few seconds of turbulence before the girls realized that they were falling. Alex screamed like the young girl she was as another explosion went off, and the door to their hiding place was yanked open by Tony, revealing the two girls.

There was continued screaming and explosions, but all Hallie registered was the horrified look on her parents' faces before the plane lurched downwards in a wild spinning motion and she lost all perception of the real world. There was a large bump that of impact that threw Hallie up into the air, and she would've crashed hard onto what was left of the metal floor of the plane had she not managed to move and land on her feet. They seemed to be in a desert-like setting, but all Hallie saw was a man with a gun -who had obviously destroyed their aircraft- running towards them, bullets firing

Clint moved quickly and immediately pushed Hallie behind him, preventing her from becoming a target as the man came closer. He stopped to hide behind a piece of the wrecked jet, popping out every so often to fire off another round, dodging the bullets and arrows her parents were launching at him. Alex was still screaming, because while Tony had protected her during the crash he had been hit and knocked out cold. There was no blood, Hallie noticed, and concluded that he had probably only gotten a knock to the head, which was better then many alternatives. The screaming and gunfire made it a frightening battle scene, and no matter how much she tried not to let it, the whole thing frightened Hallie.

The man continued to shoot at them, and Hallie almost screamed as her father was hit in the leg and went down, instead letting out a just muffled yelp. She moved forwards, rolling between bullets and picked up Clint's discarded gun with small, shaking hands. She screamed at the man to stop, because he had hurt her family and that was all she had. That was all she had and she wasn't going to loose it. So she screamed and the man stopped firing to laugh and the trembling little girl, and when Natasha moved to take him down her pointed his gun directly at Hallie, who continued to shake but didn't bat and eye. Everything froze, and the man dared Hallie to shoot, sneering because he didn't think she would.

So Hallie shot.

She didn't even register pulling the trigger but felt the motion of the gun jerking back and heard it fire, the sound echoing around them followed by the distinct thump of a body hitting the ground. She hadn't meant to kill him -of course she hadn't, the girl was eight, and scraed and shaking- but he had threatened her family and she would protect her family. He had threaded her family and that was all she had, so when he told her to shoot she shot, and he died.

Nobody moved for a good minute, and everything was silent as the young girl turned murder stared at the unblinking body of her first victim. They stood there until Hallie just collapsed, and her mother's arms were suddenly around her, cradling the broken girl who hadn't even realized that she had started crying.

In that moment Hallie changed her mind. If this is what her parents did, she didn't want to be like them at all.

* * *

Hallie was really good at drawing.

She didn't know where she had gotten it from, but loved to have a pencil in her hand almost as much as she loved to have ballet slippers on her feet.

She often drew her dreams, the things she would think up in the night. Full of swirls and shadows, things that made her question everything she'd ever been taught when she looked back at them. Her drawings were all bad, dark things, filled with evil and she wondered why they had to be so.

Once in a while though, she would draw something happy. She didn't know where they came from -she didn't really know where any of her drawings came from, and truthfully, she didn't want to know- but she liked when they happened. They would be fresh and bright, full of colours and peaceful, pure things. Such a contrast to Hallie's life that it almost frightened her sometimes.

She liked those drawings the best.

* * *

Hallie hated the fact that she still wasn't allowed to go on missions.

It wasn't that bloodlust, or the want to kill, not at all. Frankly, Hallie didn't like to kill, and hated the idea of what she could become. Hallie didn't like to kill, but she would do it without batting an eyelash or loosing even a wink of sleep because she was a Barton and that's what they did.

It just made her feel so childish, being shot down by Fury constantly. She was perfectly capable, they both knew that, and old enough now to take care of herself. She often wondered if it was something other then that though, because the look Fury always gave her when he declined her protests once again made her feel uneasy.

They both knew that she would be a great asset in the field, she was completely trained, and could shot most weapons like nobody's business, but she was more then that. She was smart and good at what she did. She had great agility and was extremely quick on her feet.

Hallie just wanted to prove herself, that's all she wanted to do. Because for her to be heard, she had to shout, and that look everyone kept giving her was screaming inside her head.

* * *

Hallie wanted to help people.

She really truly did, because deep down Hallie had a good heart. She wanted to help people. She didn't know how she was going to do so, but she wanted it with all her heart. She didn't know why, either.

The question was though, how was she going to help them. Help, you see, was a relative term, and Hallie could really help people in any way that she wanted to. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad, and frankly didn't know how she wanted to help people, she just did.

It frightened her, though she would never admit it. It frightened her because her decision on the matter told her more about herself than she wished to know.

* * *

Hallie had never been normal.

She knew that though, and she didn't really mind, but sometimes she wondered what it was like.

She wondered what it was like to just be able to go out, not doing anything while out there just go out. She fantasized about how having friends would feel, lots of real friends and not just Alex -though she loved Alex, and wouldn't trade her away ever. She wondered what it would be like to go to school.

Most of all she tried to wonder what it would be like to have normal parents. Just a simple mother and father who loved each other and worked office jobs and real hours. Her mother would always cook them dinner and her father would take her to soccer practice. Her mother would sign her up for dance and they would twirl around the house. She would have a younger sister and they would all watch movies together. It would just be happy and simple and utterly normal.

She found that she couldn't even imagine that.

* * *

Hallie had always been good with emotions.

She didn't know where that came from, because neither of her parents were exactly expressive or in tune with emotions. She liked being this way, because she could help people and give advice, which she liked, and she could read people like a book.

She also knew love when she saw it, and it was comforting to see everyday that her parents were in love. They were, fully and truly, Hallie knew, and she liked it that way. She hoped that one day she could find someone like that, someone who hopefully hadn't been sent to kill her first.

Hallie was good with seeing other people's emotions, but that didn't mean she liked them. In fact, she really hated emotions, or at least her emotions. Emotions were just a pain in the butt, and having to deal with them was something the young girl didn't enjoy.

She hated the way she would laugh, because she was suppose to be tough and cold, but when she would shoot out a witty comment or deadpan a joke that caused everyone to laugh, she found herself supressing a giggle as well. She hated the sadness she sometimes felt, for anyone. Herself, her friend's or even strangers, but she found herself to be very compassionate and empathetic, which she wasn't sure that she liked. It was almost like caring too much, which could be very dangerous. But, most of all, the redhead hated fear. She hated the way it gripped at your heart and churned in your stomach. She wasn't afraid of many things, but those thing that scared her struck true terror into her heart, and they woke her up at night, giving her dreams that haunted her even in her waking moments.

Hallie was good with emotions. She could read them easily, as well as fake or hide them at ease. That, however, didn't mean that she was at all good with her own emotions, and still often wondered why the dreams she had at night caused her to wake with tears stringing her face. But, of course, nobody would ever know that.

* * *

Hallie Barton wakes up screaming.

She often does that now, awakes with a shriek on her lips, but over the years has learned how to hold the sound in when she is startled awake. She would, as a child she would almost every night, and her parents would come running in to comfort her from whichever horrifying nightmare she had just experienced.

Not anymore though, not now. Because Hallie bites back the scream, swallowing her painfilled shriek. Because she is a Barton, strong and deadly, and much too old to still be waking up screaming. It's worse now though, so much worse, because the nightmares aren't just nightmares, they are so real and true and everything she fears, and it frightens her to no end. Scares her more deeply then she will ever admit.

Hallie doesn't sleep anymore. She just can't. She has learned how to lay just so, slowing her breathing in a way that convinces her mother that she is really unconcious. It is easier to stay up then to force herself to rest. It's so much simpler that way, less frightening, and hates the fact that she takes the easy way out -the weak way, she hates being weak- but it's the only she can. She tried to hid the bags under her eyes but they begin to stand out like warning signs on her pale skin. It's hurts, it's hurts, everything hurts.

Hallie Barton is fifteen years old, and all of her life she has heard her parents wake up screaming, and all of her life she has done the same. She loves her parents, she is so much like her parents, and as she watches and observes she learns so much about them. But she still wonders what terrific ghosts plague there dreams at night, she's not sure she really wants to know, and it that case she doesn't want to be too much like them after all.

She fears -knows. Gosh, she knows and it's all killing her inside- that she already is.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review :D**


	15. Chapter 15 Nurses and Patients AU

**A/N: Yes, yes, I know this is like a month late, and I'm very sorry about that, yeah oops. I've just been insanly busy and this one took me a long time, also I've had little inspiration for any ones for this fic other than the one here, so tell me what you want. But, to make up for it, thi is an extra long chapter, and I'm very excited for you all to read it, please tell me what you think.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Nurses and Patients

The first time that Clint Barton walks into the hospital that Natalie Rushman works in as a nurse, she doesn't give a second thought about it.

She stands with her clipboard and calls his name, giving him a small smile and a nod when he grins at her. She turns and leads down the pristine white halls, heels clicking in a perfect rhythm as she walks. She heads to his room and places the clipboard with his papers on them in the slot in the door as she opens it, pushing into the room.

"You can take a seat on the bed." she says, motioning to the small standard bed that tended to appear in most doctors' offices.

Clint does as he is told, then grinned at her, "Is your name Natasha?"

She shakes her head, "Natalie." she corrects.

"Oh, really?" he says, brows furrowing, "You look like a Natasha, eh Tasha?"

"It's Natalie, sir." she corrects again, and he only gives her a crooked smile.

"I like Tasha, it fits you." he decides.

Natalie doesn't answer, because Doctor Fury walks in at that moment, allowing her to turn and leave to room, continuing her day.

(If only she knew how important that man would become to her. And now Natalie wishes more than anything that she would've given him a second thought)

He comes back two weeks later for another appointment and some test results.

She doesn't really care, just does her job, standing up and escorting him to his room as she should. She doesn't recognize him until he calls out a, "Thanks Tasha." as she leaves the room. Natalie finds that she is smiling even as she rolls her eyes.

(He always makes her smile)

* * *

It's not until his third appointment that she really begins to pay attention.

She remembers him on sight now, and wonders why he is here again. There is a fear deep inside her that grips at her stomach in a way that she has never experienced before. She hopes that he's okay, desperately hopes it and it up and leading him to his room before she even has time to ask herself why.

He basically leads her this time, knowing the way now, and she follows silently behind. She does her job and sets up the room, placing the folder with his file in it on the desk and resisting the overwhelming urge she has to open and read it.

He calls her Tasha again, this time she only smiles.

But her heart contracts as she is walking back to her desk and she wonders why. Why does she feel like this, why him, why does he matter?

(She'll soon find out)

* * *

By the fifth visit her curiosity gets the best of her and Natalie finally takes a peak at his file.

It's after her shift and she is just preparing to leave. He has already come and gone and called her Tasha by now, and she is grabbing her coat to go but his file is right there. It is right there and practically begging for her to fully read it.

She picks up the file slowly and carefully, pausing to nonchalantly nod at Pepper as the other nurse walks by, then quickly flips the cover over.

Cancer. It's cancer. Rare, aggressive, but hopefully treatable.

Hopefully.

She feels lightheaded, and has to brace herself against the counter as she puts the file back away. She doesn't know why this hurts her so much, but it claws at her heart and she has no idea what to do.

He is dying. They are all dying, but this is different somehow because it's him. And he is dying faster.

(And all too soon she realizes that it's too fast. He is dying too fast)

* * *

He comes in about a week later for his first chemotherapy treatment.

She calls his name like normal and walks him to his room. And usually she would leave now, usually she would be allowed to relief of turning away but she's been given specific instructions. His chemo is being administrated through intervenes drip, and she is perfectly capable of doing that.

She is perfectly capable of doing it but she doesn't want. She doesn't want to and she doesn't know why she doesn't want to, or why she had to force her hands to stop shaking when she places the needle in his arm.

"Try to get comfortable." she tells him as he sits down while she is setting up the drip.

"Sure, Tasha." he says with a smirk, taking a seat and presenting his arm to her as she goes over.

"I've told you, sir, my name is Natalie." she says, carefully prepping his arm and inserting the needle. He doesn't even flinch.

"Yeah, and my name is Clint. I'll call you yours when you call me mine." he challenges with a grin.

She cracks a smile then, but says nothing because she isn't going to let him win this. Oh no she is not. She tells him the standard things regarding the chemo treatments, then leaves, saying she will be back later to take the drip out so he can do. She finds that it's only after she has left the room that she can breath again.

(Why can't she breath around him)

* * *

He's better.

Three months into the treatment and he's becoming better, she can tell. He isn't as pale, his smile not as forced when he grins at her.

He comes in for his last treatment. Hopefully his last treatment, since he seems better now, and only a few, spread out, maintenance ones after this. She sets up his drip, inserts his IV, and sits to talk with him the whole time he is there, just like normal. She barley notices when Pepper passes the room after almost an hour, but catches the smirk she is given. The other nurse will often joke how Clint is the only one she will open up to, and Natalie will forever deny it but it is plainly true. Natalie is guarded, but some how this man, this silly, crooked-smiled, smart man, has broken her walls down.

But he's getting better, and she probably won't even see him again once he is.

And she's happy, gosh she's happy because that's just how it's suppose to be. He is getting better and that is good. Over the past months, she has spent a lot of time with him, really gotten to know him. She likes him, she finds, a lot, though she would never say that. She likes his company and smiles. His wisdom and the way he seems to understand the pain she has experienced. He is funny, and kind, and she is glad that he is better.

(She tells herself this when her heart clenches after he says goodbye to her later that day)

* * *

(She tells herself she doesn't miss him. Tells herself that she isn't answering his calls because it is unprofessional. Tells herself that she doesn't care, that it's okay to push him away. That she is happy he's better and that he doesn't come in anymore and that's all to it. Says to herself that he means nothing. She's lying)

* * *

He randomly faints in a store one day and is rushed into the ER.

She, coincidentally, is working there that day, though she often wonders now it is a coincidence at all. But, how can that be, how can he keep falling right into the her lap.

Once he is well and walking -bounding is more like it, he's like a puppy, and it endears and annoys her at the same time- he comes in for some pro-cautionary blood tests. She, coincidentally again, is the nurse assigned to him to take the blood.

He smiles at her as she enters, "Hey Tasha."

She doesn't even bother to correct her as she responds with an almost cheeky, "Hello, sir." It's almost a joke between the two of them now, and his smile widens as she does so. He calls her Tasha, and as long as he does that she will refuse to call him Clint.

She gives him a nod, then goes to collect the needles and tubes before turning back his way.

"We should go out, wanna go out Tasha." he asks out of the blue.

Natalie almost drops the tubes she is holding, but recovers quickly, almost unnoticeably, "No thank you, sir."

"Come on." he protests as she sterilizes his arm, "It'll be fun."

"It'll be unprofessional." she retorts, slowly inserting the needle, though that isn't entirely true. She doesn't date, she just doesn't, because everyone she has ever loved has either hurt or left her. Because love is weakness, and it's for children, and she just can't.

"Come on, Tasha, please? For me?"

She shakes her head firmly, and she might squeeze his arm a bit to hard when she's done with the blood, "I said no."

(But she wants to say yes, so badly she wants to say yes)

It's back.

The cancer, it's back, and it seems almost stronger than before.

It kills Natalie that he is sick, kills her that he is hurting, and it kills her even more that somewhere, that in some horrible place deep inside her she is glad that she has a reason to see him move often.

She knows what this sickness does to people. Has seen it rip apart families and wither the most beautiful of souls. She isn't going to let that happen to him. Natalie became a nurse to help people, to make up for all the horrible things she has done, and she is going to help him. Because dammit she is going to save him even if it kills her.

He's getting sicker.

She can tell, and it's hardly been a month since the cancer came back but she can tell.

His eyes, usually a stormy grey with hints of bright blue, are becoming dull. He's grown weaker, moving slower and taking him more effort to do the simplest of things.

She thought that she was rid of him. She thought that he was well, and gone, and that she would never see him again. But here he is, and she is watching him wither away right before her eyes.

And it kills her.

(It kills her so much more than she is even willing to admit)

* * *

He can't take care of himself anymore.

The cancer is too strong, and his body not strong enough, so they move him to a room in the hospital where he will stay until he is well enough not to. He doesn't seem to mind though, only smiles and nods at her as they move him in. He doesn't have many belongings, despite seeming well off, or anyone with him.

She helps to get him settles, and he makes her promise to visit him everyday. She smiles, dispite herself, and says yes.

(What she doesn't say is that she already asked Fury to let her be his full time nurse, or that she's happy to see him, or that him being there makes coming to work everyday enjoyable instead of just bearable. No, she doesn't say that)

He doesn't get many visitors.

He told her once that he didn't have family anymore, that there was no one left, and she believed him. But one day a brother came it, tall and lanky with his hair and mouth, but turned into a frown. He was in the room for hardly a half hour before before speeding out with the same somber face as before. Natalie hasn't seen him since, but she doesn't ask.

He doesn't have visitors but that's okay. She spends most of her time with him now, and work has become one of her favourite places to go, because he is there. They talking and play cards or sometimes just sit. Just sit in a relaxing and comfortable silence.

She takes care of him as well, she is still a nurse after all, though must endure all of his complaining as she does so. He is so independent, but much to weak to do anything for himself. And she thinks maybe it kills her almost as much as it kills him to see him like this.

(Maybe more)

* * *

His monitor flat-lines on the 46th straight day he's been there.

She is in the room with him, as she almost always is, when it happens. He is sleeping, only sleeping, not struggling or fighting or dying but sleeping, he is sleeping and the monitor suddenly let's out a long, low beep that doesn't stop. It's doesn't stop.

She darts to her feet and calls for help before beginning to do CPR herself. She is on her second round of compressions when the rest of the team arrives, pushing her out of the way because she is crying. When did she start crying.

It takes almost 15 minutes for them to get his heart beating again, and when his blue eyes snap open her chest suddenly feels so much lighter. It's the greatest feeling in the world, because he is still alive, and they are okay for now. They are okay.

(But she doesn't forget how she felt like her heart stopped as well when his did)

* * *

"How is your friend doing?" Jane, a pathologist, asks one day as they sit together on a break. Like Pepper, she is one of the only people whom Natalie considers a friend.

"Who?"

"That man you've been taking such good care of." Jane says, "Clint Barton, was it?"

"He's not my friend, just a patient." Natalie lies immediately, because as long as she lies to her friend's she can lie to herself. Clint means nothing to her.

Jane doesn't stop pushing, "Seems like more than a patient, your awful friendly with him." she says, "I've spoken to him before."

This sparks an intrest in the nurse, "Oh, have you?"

"Yes, kind man." the brunette says, "He likes you." she reaches to place her hand atop of Natalie's, eyes full of compassion, "It's nice that you've found someone to open up to, Nat, I've seen they way you two talk to eachother, how you care for him. They way he looks at you. I've never seen you this way before, but it's good, your happy."

"I'm no different than before." she retorts cooly, pulling her hand away slowly.

Jane sighs and stands them, pausing as she grabs her bag to give Natalie a meaningful look, "His cancer is strong. You should tell him that you love him while you still can."

"He's strong too." she blurts out before she can stop herself.

Jane shakes her head firmly, "Tell him." she says, and then departs, leaving Natalie with her thoughts.

(But she can't love him. She can't love him just to loose him)

* * *

It won't be long now.

They both know he's dying, both know that he's close to death, but neither ever speaks of it. It's like an unspoken rule between the two, don't talk about dying. Continue on through the days, talk and laugh. He'll call her Tasha, she'll call in sir with a smirk, they'll talk about life and love and things she'd never tell anyone else about. Do all of that, but don't talk about death, it's too real.

Because they both know that it will happen soon, and dispite being so prepared for it, it scares Natalie senseless. She isn't scared often, but she is now, and she knows that Clint is too.

(She doesn't want to have to be afraid, but they both know it's coming, no matter how much they wish it wouldn't they know)

* * *

It only takes a week.

She is in his room, like normal, when there is a blip in the heart monitor. Usually nothing, but something twisting in her gut tells her that it's wrong. That something is wrong. So she turns to face him, and as she rushes to his beside she can see the life draining from his face.

"Clint." she says in a frantic whisper.  
After years of working in this hospital she knows what death looks like, and she can tell that Clint is dying. Everyone is dying, and he has been dying much too quickly for an awful long time but now she can see the death creeping into his stormy eyes. He is dying and it hurts her, "Clint, what can I do?" she asks quietly.

She just isn't ready for him to die.

He looks up at her, his eyes are watering and she finds that before she can prevent it hers are too. She hasn't cried in years, and yet here she is and he is dying and she is crying. And it hurts her. It hurts her so much.

"Kiss me." he says, voice just a breath, "Kiss me, Tasha."

She is crying, and she shouldn't do it but she can't say no to him, not now. So she leans down and kisses him lightly on the lips. It's soft and sweet and there is a moment where she can't tell if the tears on her face are hers or his. He smiles against her lips as he kisses her back and she wonders why she didn't do this sooner before remembering that she couldn't have. Her heart is pounding loudly in her ears, and this should feel better then it does.

Natalie pulls away, crying. He looks up at her and gives her one final smile as the monitor flat lines, and he's gone.

"I love you." Natalie manages to choke out, because it should make a difference, because he should know, because she loves him and that should be enough, buts he's gone.

(No, she loves him, he can't be gone)


	16. Chapter 16 Fears

**A/N: Okay so here's the next chapter, not one of my best but oh well. Hopefully you guys can begin to expect updates twice a month again once school slows down soon, granted I continue to have ideas :P Anyway, please tell me what you think, and drop me a prompt whenever.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Fears

"I'm afraid of you." she whispers, and when he chuckles she shoots him a look that immediately shuts him up.

"It's true." she says, "You scare me, Clint, you scare me to death."

"And explain to me, how exactly I scare you." he requests.

"I'm scared I'll lose you." she admits, "I'm scared what'll happen if I do. I'm scared I'll lose you again, or you will lose that look in your eye, that sparkle." she lists, "I'm scared of how you feel towards me."

He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off with the sharp clearing of her throat a she looks out over the dark sky, "And most of all, I'm scared of how I feel back." she laughs bitterly and runs a hand through her hair, "It's stupid and childish but I'm so damn afraid. I face aliens and killers but gosh it's you that frightens me, and I-" she cuts herself off then, but the laugh almost sounds like a sob.

His throat is dry, and he heaves a large sigh, looking out at the dark sky instead of her, "Where did this all come from?" he asks hoarsly.

She looks at him now, and even though he doesn't look back he can practically feel the way her eyes scream with emotion as she stares at him.

"We almost died today, Clint." she says, voice heavy, adding "More than usual." after his pause, because almost dying is basically a normal occurrence with them, "I can't." she begins then pauses struggling. She takes a deep breath and averts her eyes, swallowing hard. She tried again, "I can't lose you."

There is emotion in her voice, not her usual stoic way of answering. There is emotion. True raw emotion because she is feeling. She is feeling and hurting because of him.

"You won't." he promises her, and that's all he can do. Because she is a afraid and it hurts him. She is afraid of him, and it makes him hurt for her, "You'll never lose me."

"You can't promise that." she protests, and it's true. People die, everyday people are dying and one day it may just be one of them. They fight and die, that is what they are suppose to do.

"But I can try." he says, "Yes, we almost die a lot, but we are still here now, aren't we? That has to mean something." there is a long pause before he speaks again, "Don't be afraid of me. You can't be." his tone is almost pleading, "You just can't."

She looks down, scarlet hair covering her eyes, "Why not?"

"Gosh, Tasha." he runs his hands rapidly through it hair, clutching the light strands as if he is about to pull them out, "Because your you. Your brave, and strong, and deadly and you just can't be afraid of me. I don't want you to be." he's talking quickly now, and she still won't look at him, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Clint..."

"Do you trust me?" he asks, strong but desperate, because he needs to know.

"Yes." she answers without hesitation, because she does, more than anything she trusts him.

And it's childish and cheesy and stupid, but they are each other's other half. They fit together like puzzles pieces, completing each other. They both know it, too. In that moment, they both know.

She wants to say something, to tell him how much he means to her, and that she feels it too but she can't. She can't and it kills her, because dispite everything she is still afraid. But he just takes her hand gently in his, "Don't be afraid of me." he says quietly, "Please don't be afraid."

A small smile appears on her lips. She squeezes his hand back.


	17. Chapter 17 Bravery and Cowardice

**A/N: Hello all, well I told you I was planning to get another chapter out this month, and here it is! I have been trying to publish this for days now but I just keep forgetting, oh well, better late than never. Anyways, here's the chapter, awfully short by my standards but whatever. I have a few chapters in the working, one including Hallie again as the focus because I just love her so sorry if you don't like that it sucks for you. Kidding I love you all thank you. Also, I'm 5 reviews away from 100, please guys this would mean so much, so come on I know you can do it. Still taking prompts.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

_Courage is the ability to confront fear, pain, danger, uncertainty, or intimidation. Physical courage is courage in the face of physical pain, hardship, death, or threat of death, while moral courage is the ability to act rightly in the face of popular opposition, shame, scandal, or discouragement. Emotional courage is being open to feeling the full spectrum of emotional experience, both positive and negative. Courage is the self-affirmation of being in spite of the fact of non-being._

* * *

Bravery and Cowardice

Natasha doesn't think she is brave. In fact, she thinks that she is somewhat of a coward.

Yes, she faces pain and danger everyday. She fights real life monsters and wins. She takes down bad guys and almost dies on a daily basis, but she still does not think that she is brave or courageous.

The main part of bravery is fear, and more specifically facing those fears. Because yes, she runs straight into battles, but that is not what scares her, so therefore she is not brave. Natasha doesn't measure bravery on how much a person has done, but rather how much a person hasn't done. The longer your list of things not done, the less brave you are.

There are so many things she has not done. So many things she would like to do.

She has not slept a full night in someones arms, or sobbed over a tub of ice cream. She has never indulged in a good hug, not since childhood, and has never danced in the rain. She hasn't made a friend or flashed a true grin. She hasn't kissed someone with abandon, or ever said I love you.

She has not done all of these things, but she would like too. She hasn't done these things because she isn't brave enough too, and she has told anybody about them because she's never been brave enough to do that either.

Courage is a spectrum, always spinning, and you must come full circle to fulfill it completely. Natasha has courage, she has bravery, yes, to some extent, but though she has those things, she is neither courageous nor brave, because she has not experienced it in full.

Clint is courageous, though. In fact, Natasha thinks that Clint is the bravest person she has ever meet. Clint will run into battle with her in a heartbeat. He will fight aliens, and evil villains and anything that comes his way. He has faced real life monsters, just like her, but it's more than that. He tells her that he loves her, all the time, even though she refused to believe it and is too afraid to admit that she loves him back. He would kiss her in the rain without a second thought, and make her dance with him afterwards too. He smiles and jokes and laughs. He let's himself cry, and will allow her to hold him when he does.

She can never do these things. She won't let herself. She won't let herself love because she is too scared of the loss that comes after it. All she is doing is protecting herself, like she was taught. Because she has lost before and she doesn't ever want to have to endure that again.

She loves Clint, yes, and she knows it. She knows it, she has for a long while, but she just can't say it. For all she's worth she just can tell him. Because saying it would be an acceptance of fate, and she doesn't think she's strong enough to lose him. She isn't strong enough to lose him, and that alone should be enough. She loves him, and she wants him to know, because if anything were ever to happen to her, she wants him to know. And if anything were to ever happen to him, it would be worse for her if he didn't know than if he did.

There's no winning. She tries to say it but she can't.

She wants to say I love you, she tries to, but she just can't manage to choke those three words out.

And that's why she is a coward.


End file.
